


Chip On Your Lip

by MadameFolie



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anarchy date, Dump Some Water On Him, Fist Fights, Is This Punk Rock?, No Ducks Were Harmed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:58:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8946832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameFolie/pseuds/MadameFolie
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky is sixteen years old, has a cat named Mishka, a sponsorship contract with a fancy foreign luxury sportswear company, two figure skating gold medals, and absolutely nothing to drink.His skin feels too small for him today. And he hates it.





	

Yuri Plisetsky is sixteen years old, has a cat named Mishka, a sponsorship contract with a fancy foreign luxury sportswear company, two figure skating gold medals, and absolutely nothing to drink. And it’s all Otabek’s fucking fault. Yuri pushes himself into the seat of the bike to wait for him to finish up in the convenience store. His skin feels too small for him today. It’s been happening a lot lately. And he hates it.

 

Get me something strong, he’d told Otabek. And don’t be fucking funny. Last time Otabek got him flavored espresso in a can. Nobody ever told him friendship could sometimes feel like waking up to find a leg covered in spider bites in winter. He doesn’t know if it’s supposed to. But why give something teeth if they’re not meant to use them?

 

Can’t have been more than a couple of minutes since Otabek went in. The seconds ooze by so slowly he wants to scream. He jangles the keys in his hand. Turns them over to feel the bits push marks into his fingertips. What is he _doing_ in there? Yuri doesn’t even look at Instagram when he refreshes his feed. Just refreshes it. And refreshes it. And jangles the keys. And refreshes.

 

He doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until the doors hiss open. Thank fuck. Otabek hoists the bag as a peace offering. It’s full of food and drinks. The strongest thing in there is an energy drink in a neon yellow and black can. The pattern on it’s kind of cool. And Otabek found some kind of face-melting spicy things in a foil bag. So he’s forgiven. Yuri buries his face in the sticky, gross leather of Otabek’s jacket and they ride.

 

But when he parks the bike, there’s no salt water in the air. No seagulls. Yuri peels his face away from Otabek’s shoulder, just enough to confirm.

 

“I said I wanted to go to the sea.” Otabek looks out over the edge of the lot, watching the pond off in the park the way Victor looks at the sea pretty much anywhere and thinks of Hasetsu. There’s even a little breeze teasing at his hair. Yuri pretends to be busy sneering at what he’s been offered. 

 

“There’s no ocean here for miles. We’d be driving for hours.” 

 

“I don’t care.“ He just wants to move, and keep moving, until the skin on his face dries and cracks and burns. Needs to see something huge. Instead he throws rocks in the pond to hear them sink and screams obscenities at the ducks and kicks at the bark on the trees until his legs ache too much to go on and he collapses in the grass beside Otabek. Who doesn’t even so much as flinch the whole time because he’s too fucking decent.

 

“Feeling better?” Just lying there, stone steady in the dark, rolling the spice powder off his fingers from the bag of the whatever.

 

“No.” Not in the goddamn slightest. How does Otabek do it? Where does it all even go?

 

“Hm.”

 

“Fuck.” 

 

“Wanna fight?” 

 

He doesn’t even register the question at first. That’s how fucking insane it is. He has to double check that he’s actually heard it and not just freaking out.

 

“….what.” He twists to face Otabek, whose face is smooth under the halo of the electric lights on the park paths and there’s not a drip of insincerity in any of what he’s saying. A bark of laughter snaps in his chest like a fuse. Cracks under the load of it all. “Are you crazy?”

 

“No. Do you want to?”

 

Christ, he doesn’t know. It’s a fucking weird idea. But it gets his blood singing.

 

“What, you want me to just punch you?” Otabek nods. Yuri imagines taking a swipe at him. Where would he even hit him? The face? Won’t it hurt him? Yuri balls up his fist to see the way his fingers fold into his palm, four bent knuckles in neat file. There’s the bones. And the shape of Otabek’s face, he might catch him in the eye. He leans over and presses his closed fist against Otabek’s cheek. He’s surprised by how much give there is. Whole lot of baby fat sticking to him.

 

“Yeah,” Otabek says. “Like that.” And fucking shoves him. 

 

Pretty screwed up how the ground can just betray him like that. One second it’s soft enough to sit on, with wispy grass and plush earth and the next the grit’s ripping into the skin on his hands that the gloves don’t cover. Some of it winds up trapped in the finger holes.

 

“Fucking– bastard!”  Otabek shoulders out of his jacket one arm at a time and drapes it across the grass behind him.

 

“Come on, you’re not just going to let me get away with that, are you?” Oh, the hell he is. Yuri scrambles up onto his knees and lurches to push him down with a fist in his shirt. He’s not even really that pissed off with him in theory, it just fucking hurt. And he’s got no interest in being the only one hurting.

 

It’s almost like Otabek lets him pin him between his legs for a punch in the face. Yuri can feel all that dense muscle underneath him and honestly Otabek could throw him off like he’s nothing if he wanted. Otabek’s head jerks with the force of the first punch. The second one they’re both actually expecting, so Yuri hits harder and Otabek takes it and doesn’t give him the chance for a third before sinking his nails into the wrist Yuri’s got pinning him. It stings, but even brighter and hotter is the blood pounding in his ears. Otabek pulls him up over his head and into a heap on the ground.

 

“ _Fuck_ –” He bites out. “I’ll fucking kill you–” And Otabek snorts because of course. Of course he won’t. The words don’t mean anything, they _never_ mean anything and there has to be another way. Otabek aims a kick for him, anything he can reach. Curled up on the ground, that isn’t much. 

 

The ignored bag of spicy whatevers has spilled its innards all over the place and artificial capsaicin claws at the welts on his hands and Yuri crawls back over to Otabek, who’s massaging his cheek and trying to sit up. Yuri punches down. This time it’s something solid and satisfying. And Otabek easily bowls him over with a swipe at his head.

 

His lip’s split. He realizes as soon as the cold on his lip subsides into a dull throb and a boiling in his gut. Bastard split his fucking lip. Yuri opens his mouth to fucking call him on this stupid bullshit. But it sears the words clean off his tongue and by then Otabek already has him by the leg and it’s too late.

 

It’s over fast after that. Otabek drags him kicking and swearing down to the water. He rolls him in with embarrassing ease. The pond is cold, even in summer. Ducks scatter, affronted. Benthic scum seeps into his clothes. He thinks there’s a branch in the mud making a run for his asscrack. 

 

“There,” Otabek says. His hair’s all matted and damp, chest welling and sagging with the effort of steadying his breath. And the boiling under his skin….is gone. Just like that. For now, anyway. Yuri sucks at the nasty divot in his lip and cringes to find it tastes like pond shit, too. God, he’s going to have to ride home like this.

 

“You’re such an asshole,” he says. He’s cold and the words are hollow. Wet.

 

“I guess.” Otabek levers himself into the shallows. Reeds cling to his filthy shirt as he wades in to meet him. 

 

And just for a little bit, it’s not so suffocating.


End file.
